Losing a Book
by hestiaA1
Summary: AU! Sequel to "Finding a Family" - I advise you to read that first. This story picks up immediately afterwards and is in response to those readers who requested more of Hermione and the addition of Draco. Note: references to corporal punishment and abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Caution: This story is a sequel to "Finding a Family"; if you haven't read the first story, you may be a little lost in this one (e.g. why on earth does Hermione have access to Snape's personal library?), so it might be worth your time to read that one first. This story is dedicated to all of you who asked for more Hermione in the sequel and also to those who asked for Draco to appear as well. To my astonishment it has turned out to be more about Hermione, Draco, and Snape than I had intended, with poor Harry relegated to a supporting role. Sometimes the characters just take over despite your best intentions, you know? Anyway, rest assured that Harry will make more of an appearance in the next sequel, but I think Draco (and Hermione, of course) are also here to stay. Be warned: this story makes reference to corporal punishment and abuse.**

_Losing a Book_

When all was said and done, Ron ended up owing Harry a Galleon. The redhead had bet it would take Hermione at least a month before she could convince Snape to let her borrow a book from his personal library, but Harry – well aware of the high priority Snape placed on research – was confident that Hermione would win him over well before that.

In actuality, it took her seventeen days.

"Thank you _so_ much, Professor! I promise I'll bring it back next week," Hermione promised, hugging Snape's personal copy of _Transfiguration Do's and Don'ts_ to her chest.

"If you do not, Miss Granger, you should seriously consider transferring to a different school. I am told Australia is lovely this time of year," Snape said without a hint of humor.

She swallowed. "Yes, sir. I understand."

As the three Gryffindors made their way back to their Tower, Ron remonstrated with Hermione. "Why did you want to take his book with you? Aren't there enough in the library for you?"

Hermione regarded the book gloatingly. "This one has the professor's own notes in it! And it's a better edition than the one in the library, too."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then at her. "You're going to forget to eat again, aren't you?" Harry sighed.

"Oh, stop that," Hermione snapped, but her tone was undeniably distracted. She had already opened the book and was flipping through its pages. The boys exchanged a glance and, each taking an elbow, safely steered their oblivious friend through the corridors.

#

Three days later, it was a very different Hermione whom they encountered in the Gryffindor Common Room. Ginny had alerted her brother that something was very wrong: Hermione had been up half the night ransacking the girls' dormitory. Harry and Ron found Hermione frantically searching the Common Room, pulling cushions off chairs, pushing couches aside, and even peering under the rugs.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked anxiously.

"You lost it, didn't you?" Ron instantly thought of the worst possible thing that could befall Hermione. "Snape's book. It's missing, right?"

She nodded tearfully. "I don't understand it! I know I had it with me yesterday, because I used it to check my work after Transfigurations. I know I had to take it out of my bag in Potions to get my notes out, but I can't remember when I saw it after that. I've checked _everywhere_, and I can't find it!"

The boys immediately began helping her search, but even with their help, the book remained stubbornly missing. Finally, Hermione sent the boys down to breakfast and dragged herself along to Professor McGonagall's office. Maybe the witch would know what to do.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Minerva was alarmed at Hermione's woebegone face. "What's wrong?" A chill ran up her spine, as it always did when one of the Golden Trio presented themselves at her door.

"Oh, Professor, I have a terrible problem," Hermione all but wailed. "I borrowed a book and now I've lost it, and I don't know what to do!"

McGonagall let her breath out in a relieved sigh. Was that all? She schooled her features into a stern frown. "I'm surprised at you, Miss Granger. I would have expected that you, of all people, would look after someone else's property, especially a book!" But at Hermione's quivering lip, she relented, realizing the girl really did feel terrible. "There, there," she said briskly, patting her on the shoulder as she led her over to a chair. "You're not the first student to lose a book, and I'm sure you won't be the last. Madame Pince will –"

Hermione shook her head miserably. "It wasn't a library book, Professor. It was a personal copy."

"Oh, dear. Well, I'm sure you've looked very thoroughly so there's no point in my trying to think of places you haven't searched. Have you tried to retrace your steps?"

Hermione nodded.

"To no avail?"

Another nod.

"Well then, we must assume it is unlikely to turn up. It's not as if it walked away on its own." Minerva gave Hermione a sharp look. "It didn't, did it?"

"No, Professor. It wasn't one of _those_ books," Hermione confirmed.

"Then I suggest that you owl Flourish and Botts and see if they have a replacement copy in stock. Perhaps that will –" But the child was shaking her head again.

"It had notes written in it, Professor. Comments and things like that. A new copy won't have any of that. All that hard work and knowledge is _gone_. I feel just terrible!" Hermione stifled a sob.

McGonagall managed not to smile. Juvenile jottings in the margins were usually more a source of amusement than assistance in later years, but of course they never appeared that way to the children who scrawled down what they thought were profound observations. She wondered just which student had managed to instill such a sense of awe in Hermione. One of the Ravenclaw upper years, perhaps? "Perhaps you might then provide the book's owner with not only a replacement for the missing text, but a gift certificate for a second book of their choosing? You're only in your second year, Miss Granger; I'm sure the missing notes couldn't have been too extensive."

Hermione stared at her. "It isn't another student's, Professor. The missing book belongs to Professor Snape."

Minerva sank into a chair. "You lost one of _Severus'_ books? Great Merlin's argyle socks!"

Hermione's eyes filled with tears at McGonagall's agitation. "What can I do to make it right, Professor?"

Her Head of House thought frantically. Snape was fanatically possessive about his things; for him to loan something was unusual. To entrust a precious, annotated book to a student was unprecedented. And now Hermione had lost the tome? McGonagall suspected that Snape's response would be extremely unpleasant. "Oh, my dear," she said, putting her arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Oh, my _poor_ child."

McGonagall's sympathy was decidedly unnerving. "Please, Professor, what should I do?" Hermione gulped.

Minerva took a deep breath and tried to be optimistic. Severus was an adult, after all. He would understand that these things happen. Surely he wouldn't strangle one of the best students Hogwarts had seen in a decade over a simple missing book. "I think you should go ahead and contact Flourish and Botts. I understand that you will not be able to reconstruct Professor Snape's notes, but you must make what reparations you can." Hermione nodded obediently. "And of course, you must tell him what has happened. I will accompany you, if you would like." And prevent the infuriated man from turning one of her brightest lions into a pile of potion ingredients.

Hermione's heart sank. "But I have a few more days before he's expecting me to return it, Professor. Can't I wait until then? I might have the new book then and I could give it to him while I apologize…"

McGonagall forced herself to frown. "I expected you to have both more sense and more courage, Miss Granger," she _tsk_'d. "Professor Snape has a right to know his book has been misplaced. He may have some suggestions as to where to look for it. Besides, you certainly don't want him to learn of your carelessness from anyone _but _yourself, do you? What if someone finds it and returns it to him?"

Hermione slumped. "Yes, Professor," she said sadly. She knew McGonagall was right, but Merlin, she did _not_ want to have to face Snape.

"Would you like me to come with you?" McGonagall offered again.

"No, thank you, Professor," Hermione replied, after a moment's thought. "I – I was supposed to go to his quarters tonight anyway with Harry and Ron. I'll tell him then."

"Very well. Contact me if there are any… problems."

"Yes, Professor. Thank you."

When Hermione finally caught up with Harry and Ron, she told them what McGonagall had suggested. "… so I went ahead and sent an owl to my parents, asking them for enough money to buy Professor Snape the new books. I'm sure they'll say yes, so I also owled Flourish and Botts and asked them to put a copy aside." She sighed unhappily. "Not that I think it will make any difference to Professor Snape. He's going to be _furious_."

Harry chewed his lower lip anxiously. He hated the thought of one of his friends getting into trouble, but he was sure that Hermione's apprehension was justified. "I just don't see how the book vanished. It doesn't make sense that it was in your bag and then gone. You're the one who's always so careful about your stuff."

"Wait a second," Ron said, "wasn't Malfoy sitting near you in Potions yesterday? He seemed awfully pleased about something when we were all leaving class yesterday. What if that little ferret took it?"

"When? And why?"

"Maybe when we were all going up to the front to turn in our potions? And as for why, who knows why that git does anything? Just to get you in trouble probably."

"I don't know," Harry said doubtfully. "I mean, yes, Malfoy's an evil arse, but to steal something like that?"

"I think you should talk to him before you tell Snape. If he has it, maybe you can get him to give it back. If he doesn't, well, it won't hurt anything because you're going to tell Snape anyway, so it's not like Malfoy can go running to him and get you in trouble."

Hermione considered Ron's words. "I can't believe even Malfoy would be low enough to take a book out of my bag, but I guess it's worth a try."

"You want us to help you talk to him?" Harry offered.

"No – with you two along, he'll insist on having Crabbe and Goyle with him and then he'll never admit anything and you'll just start fighting," Hermione said primly.

"Ha!" Ron scoffed. "Like you've never hit Malfoy!"

"Yeah," Harry grinned. "He's more likely to keep his goons around him when you're there!"

Hermione glared at both of them and would have argued further, but just at that moment she caught sight of Malfoy leaving the Great Hall. "Stay here!" she ordered her friends, hurrying after the blond Slytherin.

Meanwhile, Snape noted Hermione's abrupt departure and left the staff table in pursuit. Earlier that morning, a house elf had popped into his quarters and returned his copy of _Transfiguration Do's and Don'ts_, explaining that it had been discarded in the trash. He was eager to interrogate Miss Granger as to how a book in _her_ care should have been so shamefully mishandled.

"Malfoy!" Hermione called, catching up to the boys as they headed back to the dungeons.

Surprised, Draco and his friends turned around. "Well, well, if it isn't Potter's pet mudblood," Draco sneered.

"I need to talk to you, Malfoy," she retorted, reddening but holding her ground – and her temper.

"Like I care what you need," he sniffed and turned to go.

"Talk to me now or to Professor Snape later," Hermione said coldly.

He spun back. "What are you talking about?" She folded her arms implacably, and he glanced at the two boys who flanked him. "Get lost," he ordered.

When the two hulks hesitated, he shoved them. "I said go!"

Aggrieved, they lumbered off. "Don't come crying to us when she punches you in the nose again," Goyle threw over his shoulder.

Draco tugged her into a shadowy corridor. "What's so important, Granger?" he demanded.

Hermione forced her voice to remain calm and even. "I'm missing a book, Draco. I had it in our last Potions class, and I'm wondering if you might have… found it." She knew that accusing the boy of stealing the book would just result in an immediate denial and hoped that approaching it this way might yield better results.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "A book?" he echoed innocently. In that moment, Hermione knew full well he had taken it. "Good heavens, Granger. I can't imagine _you_ losing a _book_."

"Draco, it's really important. I need that book back. Please, if you have it, give it back to me," Hermione pleaded desperately.

"Are you accusing me of stealing, mudblood?" Draco's eyes narrowed, and for a moment he actually _felt_ insulted. Just because he _had_ stolen the book didn't mean he'd let some stupid Gryffindor blame him when it was obvious she had no proof.

"Draco, please. It's not my book. I had just borrowed it."

He shrugged and turned away, unwilling to admit she was beginning to make him feel guilty. "Not my problem, Granger."

"_Please_, Draco!" Hermione caught his arm. "It belongs to Professor Snape! If you have it, you've got to give it back."

Draco swung back, his eyes wide. "Snape let you take one of his books out of his quarters?" he gasped. "He doesn't let _anyone_ do that except –" he bit back his words, but his anger soared. _He_ was the only one his godfather trusted with his precious books! How could Snape let a Muggleborn, and a Gryffindor at that, borrow from his library? Any compunction Draco might have felt at Hermione's anxiety vanished in a surge of jealousy.

To make matters worse, Snape knew perfectly well that Lucius was anything but satisfied with the fact that Hermione routinely outscored Draco. Over summer break, Lucius had threatened to punish Draco severely if the boy didn't get better grades than Hermione, and yet now even his own godfather was helping her outshine him.

Transfigurations was the one class in which Draco and Hermione were neck and neck. The notion that Hermione might be able to better her performance through the use of a supplementary text was what had prompted Draco to lift the book in the first place. He had managed to convince himself that her use of the text was tantamount to cheating, so his actions were wholly justified. Now, knowing that the book came from his godfather made him even more determined to see her fail. He had no doubt but that Snape would be furious with the girl for losing his book, and that would mean once again, no one but Draco would be allowed to use his library. What's more, Draco knew his godfather nursed grudges, and this could mean that Granger's Potions grade would suffer. Maybe he could manage to beat her in two classes – that would certainly please his father and might be enough to avoid the promised punishment with Lucius' cane.

Hermione hoped that Draco's expression of shock meant that he had finally realized the seriousness of what he had done. She pressed her suit. "Please help me. If you have any idea where the book is, I'd be very grateful."

"How grateful?" Draco asked, an idea forming.

Hermione sighed. "What do you want?"

The Slytherin looked crafty. "You must want the book back really badly."

She nodded grimly. "You know I do. What will it take?"

"I'm not saying I know anything, mind you, but maybe if I didn't have to study so hard in order to get the top marks, I might be able to look around and find your book for you."

It took a moment, and then Hermione looked utterly shocked. "You want me to do badly on a test? Deliberately?"

"It's not like you have anything else I'd want, mudblood," Draco snarled. Stupid girl! It's not like she understood anything. _She_ certainly didn't get thrashed if she wasn't head of the class. Oh no, her Muggle parents probably just gave her extra pudding and a trip to the bookstore. It's not as if they understood anything about the Wizarding world in the first place. _She_ didn't know what it was like to have had generations of pureblood expectations weighting down your shoulders since the day you were born. _She_ didn't know how followers of Lord Voldemort punished failure. _She_ didn't have a father who was fanatical on the topic of pureblood superiority and expected his son to embody that supremacy in everything he did – or else. By Lucius' standards, Draco had the bloodlines to succeed in all his endeavors. It necessarily followed, then, that if he _wasn't_ the best, it was because he wasn't trying. And laziness was something that Lucius firmly believed could be beaten out of a boy.

No, Granger didn't have a clue. She was just skipping merrily through life, thinking that having Snape shout at her was the end of the world. The professor couldn't even touch her – she was a Gryffindor and completely outside his authority, so what was she worried about?

Hermione's lips tightened. "All right. We have a test today in Potions. I'll be sure to answer one of the essay questions wrong. That should mean you'll get the best score. Now give me the book."

"Not so fast," Draco countered. "You said you really wanted the book back. You think throwing a single test is enough?"

"Malfoy, I am not going to destroy my entire scholastic career over this!"

"Throw the Potions test today and tomorrow's Transfiguration practical, and then I'll give you the book."

"No," Hermione countered, her face tight with anger. "I'm not about to ruin my average and then have you refuse to give me the book. Hand it over first."

"Right," Draco sneered. "Because once you have the book back, you'll still be _so_ motivated to honor our bargain."

"All right. I'll throw the Potions test today, then you give me the book, then I'll make sure you get a higher grade in Transfigurations tomorrow."

Draco considered. He had handed the book off to Goyle immediately after Potions with orders to get rid of it. He hadn't wanted to risk being caught with the evidence in case Granger or someone else had seen him pinch it. As far as he knew, Gregory had long since disposed of the book, presumably by feeding it to the Squid or some other, equally permanent, method. However, even if he couldn't return the book to Granger, by then she still would have done poorly on the Potions test, and Snape would hardly be in the mood to let her retake the exam, even if she poured out the whole story.

Even if he couldn't string her along long enough to mess up deliberately in Transfigurations, she'd probably be so furious with him for tricking her, and for herself for lowering her Potions grade for nothing, that she'd still have problems on tomorrow's practical exam. Transfigurations were fiddly things at the best of times, and trying them when upset was a great way to get all sorts of unexpected results. Draco grinned to himself. Yes, he thought it was very likely that he'd end up at the top of the class in both Potions and Transfigurations after all.

"So is this how purebloods convince others of their superiority?" Hermione asked contemptuously. "By cheating? Will it really make you feel smart, Draco, knowing that the only reason you're getting the top marks is because I deliberately answered incorrectly?"

"You don't know anything about how I feel!" Draco spat back, stung. How dare she look at him like that, as if it was all about his ego. Sure, if he were only interested in the prestige that went along with having the highest grades, then it might make him squirm to know that he cheated his way to the top. But since he was doing this in order to save himself from a merciless caning, he wasn't so interested in the little niceties. He'd do whatever it took to avoid being beaten bloody, thank you very much, and if the little mudblood thought the less of him for it, he'd somehow manage to live with himself.

Hermione threw up her hands in disgust. "You're pathetic, Malfoy."

"Just remember the deal, Granger. Be sure to miss a couple of questions."

She just shook her head and walked away, leaving Draco free to rejoin Crabbe and Goyle in the dungeons.

#

Snape followed Granger as she headed towards the dungeons. He was about to overtake her when he heard her call to his godson. Curious, he faded into the shadows in order to eavesdrop. Once a spy, always a spy.

What could the two of them have to discuss? While there had been odder pairings in the history of Hogwarts, Granger and Malfoy certainly weren't a couple that anyone had predicted. Nor had they shown any signs of mutual attraction while in his quarters.

He listened in on the conversation, only planning to stay hidden long enough to satisfy his curiosity. After that, he would loom out of the darkness and chastise them for engaging in the activity for which most students lurked in the shadows. But to Snape's surprise, the two weren't sneaking off for some illicit snogging. He listened with growing outrage as the plot unfolded. So Granger had been careless enough to leave _his_ book out for Draco to pilfer? And, even worse, the boy was now blackmailing her to improve his grades? And, worst of all, Granger was agreeing to cheat – under Snape's very nose?

It took all of Snape's control not to swoop down on the two conspirators right then and there. Connive to destroy _his_ grading system, would they? This called for a very special response. After the two children had parted ways, Snape stalked to his office, plotting his own course of action.

_  
TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione sighed as she finished her test. She had deliberately omitted key concepts on two of the questions and misspelled the names of ingredients in two more. Surely that was enough to let that horrible ferret earn the highest mark. She still couldn't believe that he had insisted that she do poorly on a test, but in retrospect she supposed that it made as much sense as anything else. As he had said, what else could she offer? It's not like he needed tutoring, or money, and he wouldn't be seen dead in her company, so…And she needed the book back. She couldn't bear to see Snape's expression if she had to confess that she had lost it. He had trusted her, and she had failed him. She should never have taken the book to class with her. She might just as easily have spilled something on it or damaged it some other way, though she still thought that Malfoy's snatching it out of her bag was hard to blame on _her._

She knew Harry and Ron didn't understand. They thought she was more worried about what Snape would do to her for losing the book. While she wasn't looking forward to her punishment – and McGonagall's reaction had deeply unsettled her – she wasn't nearly as worried as the boys thought she should be. She honestly didn't believe he would whack her, despite what he did to Harry. Harry had a special relationship with Snape, but she knew her parents would never consent to his smacking her. And as scary as the professor was, she just couldn't imagine him losing control of himself to the point where he would belt her without permission.

In truth, she'd rather he _would_ just haul off and wallop her. No matter how bad it was – and from Harry's descriptions, she had a pretty good idea of how awful a spanking from Snape could be – she'd rather avoid sitting down for a week than lose her access to his wonderful library, not to mention the surprisingly cozy ambience that had developed among the four of them.

Snape remained formal and acerbic, but while he might make scathing remarks about their logic or intellect, he only did so when the comments were deserved. He wasn't condescending or patronizing, nor did he fob them off with lemon drops and evasive answers. If he wouldn't discuss a topic, he simply said so, and that was that. He acted… not like they were adults exactly, but definitely not as if they were little children either. He assumed they had brains and treated them accordingly – though he could be downright cutting if he thought they weren't using those wits appropriately.

Hermione knew that being excluded from this intellectual salon would hurt much worse than any physical punishment could. Which was why she was about to hand in the worst test paper of her life.

She pulled herself together and turned in the parchment. Snape didn't so much as glance at her as she dropped it on top of the pile on his desk.

When the last student had finished, Snape ordered them to get out their cauldrons and brew a sample of Headache Reliever, commenting that he would likely need to exhaust his own supply while grading their papers. Draco caught Hermione's eye, and she nodded at him, then colored angrily at his gloating smile. Git!

Draco fought down a feeling of guilt. What was wrong with him? So the mudblood would lose a few points. What difference would it really make to her? Besides, why should a Malfoy care what happened to one of the lesser species?

As the class period drew to a close, Snape finished marking the test papers. Having already dispatched Neville to Madame Pomfrey for a nasty cut on his thumb, caused by picking up dragonscales without protective gloves, he was able to skip over the lowest grade in the class. He called the other students up to his desk, one at a time, to return each one's corrected paper along with a caustic comment. "Crabbe, your paper is proof that idiocy is limitless… Thomas, should you ever expect to pass this course, you might consider studying – or prayer… Nott, your work is not quite as bad as your usual standard… Weasley, the next time you confuse salamander eyes with toad eyes, I will have you taste test each one to teach you the difference… Potter, if you spent half the time you waste studying quidditch plays on your Potions homework, you might be a passable brewer…" Then he was at the last two names: "Malfoy and Granger, come here."

Harry and Ron smiled at Hermione. Once again, she was at the top of the class! But her returning smile was awfully weak.

She stopped in front of Snape's desk, shoulder to shoulder with Malfoy. Snape looked at them both. "I have here your papers. You two were the least idiotic of the students and received the top two grades." Draco and Hermione exchanged a sidelong glance of mutual antipathy. "However," Snape went on silkily, "I am not recording either of them." And with that, he tore their tests in two.

The class gasped in shock, and Hermione and Draco's jaws dropped. "What! You can't do –" Draco started to yell, but the look on his godfather's face stopped him cold.

"I will not tolerate cheating in my class. The rest of you are dismissed. You two, remain behind."

Harry and Ron lingered, frantic with worry for Hermione. Goyle and Crabbe also hung back, less out of concern for Draco than because without his guidance, they were unsure what class they had next.

Snape sent all of them fleeing with a few well-chosen words, then turned his attention to the two students still standing before his desk. "Well?" he demanded icily.

"I didn't cheat!" Draco exclaimed hotly.

"How can you say that, Professor?" Hermione demanded. "You know I know the material! Go ahead and ask me a question."

"Yeah!" Draco agreed. "Or if you think we've got notes hidden somewhere, have us change seats."

"I did not suggest that you cheated to increase your grade, Miss Granger, but deliberately doing _less_ than your best is nevertheless cheating," Snape said sternly.

Hermione gulped. How had he known? Under his cold, glittering gaze, she felt her courage dwindle. "I – I –" she stammered, trying to think of something to say. Where was her alleged intelligence now? She was stuttering like an idiot. But then, she heard McGonagall's voice in her head, that cool chastisement about lacking courage and sense, and she knew what she had to do. There was no point in accusing Draco – Snape would never believe her over him, and she had no doubt but that the Slytherin would disavow any involvement in the scheme – but she needed to confess. She would make Snape even angrier, but that was better than waiting and having to infuriate him all over again later. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I lost your book. I – I was just distracted, I guess." Without looking, she could tell that Draco was dumbfounded by her failure to implicate him, but she didn't want to give Snape any additional excuse to deduct points from her. Everyone knew that accusing a Slytherin of anything without indisputable proof of their guilt was completely counter-productive.

Snape reached behind his desk. "I believe you are referring to this book?"

Hermione nearly swooned in relief. "You found it!" A huge smile spread across her face, then a thought visibly struck her and she spun on Draco. "You mean you didn't have it?" she demanded. "You were going to let me go ahead and ruin my grades for _nothing_?" she screeched.

Draco saw the look in her eye and ducked, but he was unable to avoid the punch entirely.

"Miss Granger!" Snape yanked her back as she moved to pursue Draco around the professor's desk.

She halted, realizing that socking Snape's godson in front of him was foolish in the extreme, but too furious to care very much. "That sneaky ferret! That bas-"

The silencing spell hit her before she could finish the word, and then Snape was leaning over, nose to nose, glaring directly into her eyes. She gulped, her rage abruptly draining away. "One more syllable, Miss Granger, and it would have been a mouth soaping spell, not a silencing spell. Do we understand each other?"

She nodded jerkily, her anger replaced by apprehension.

"Sit down."

With the girl taken care of for the moment, Snape turned his attention to Draco. His godson was nursing his jaw and pouting. "She hit me! The mudblood hit me! You saw her!"

Snape assessed the injury with cool, careful fingers. It would leave a mark, but there was no serious damage. "Can you move your jaw?" Draco tried and nodded. "Can you speak?"

"Yes." Draco threw a nasty glare to where Hermione sat, mute.

"Then perhaps you can explain why a house elf found this book tossed aside in the boys' lavatory off the Slytherin Common Room?"

Draco froze. That idiot Goyle! He should have known better than to leave it with that poor excuse for a primate. "Uh…"

"Were you unaware the book belonged to me?"

Draco fidgeted uneasily. He was all too aware that Snape might be unable to swat Granger, but no such restrictions applied to _his _person. He also knew that however angry his godfather might be now, being lied to would make him absolutely livid and virtually guarantee Draco a walloping. Snape obviously knew a lot already; better to confess all and hope for leniency than try to brazen it out and be caught in a lie.

"I didn't know it was your book when I took it, but later Granger told me it was yours," he admitted. He could see the Gryffindor's look of shock at his swift confession, but he knew from painful experience that underestimating his godfather was a bad idea.

"And you took it in the first place because…?"

Draco colored and tried not to look at Hermione. The last thing he wanted to do was admit this in front of someone else, let alone Hermione Granger the insufferable know-it-all, perfect student, pride of Gryffindor, but he couldn't bear to have his godfather think he was just being a prat. Or worse, that he had planned to blackmail Granger all along. "I thought it was unfair that she was using the book to do better than me in Transfigurations," he admitted, almost inaudibly.

Snape's fingers caught him beneath his chin and lifted. Black eyes met gray, and Draco swallowed hard. "Father has been very unhappy with my grades. I didn't want Granger to get an edge in class. That was all I wanted at first, so I just took the book. But then when she came and asked for the book back, I figured I might as well go ahead and make _sure_ I did better than her."

"Even though you had gotten rid of the book?"

He shrugged dejectedly. "She didn't know that. I figured I could screw up her grade in your class at least before she found out I didn't have it. I thought she might be so angry, she'd mess up in Transfigurations as well."

"So the two of you colluded. Miss Granger was to deliberately underperform, and you were, in consequence, to enjoy an undeservedly high mark." Both students squirmed. When you put it like that, it really did sound unfair.

"Sit," he pushed Draco into the chair next to Hermione. "Are you in control of yourself?" he asked Hermione sternly, and at her nod of acquiescence, cancelled the silencing spell.

Snape seated himself at his desk and regarded the two over his steepled fingers. They glanced at each other then quickly looked away. Soon both found it safest to stare fixedly at the floor. After what seemed an eternity, Snape spoke. "Very well. You will be punished for your attempts to cheat in my class and Professor McGonagall's."

"Sir, will – will you be telling Professor McGonagall about this?" Granger asked hesitantly.

"Yes." At his blunt reply, she flinched and returned her gaze to her shoes.

"First, you will both sit my re-test on Saturday morning. You can expect it to be harder in content and for me to grade it more harshly." They winced, but nodded. "I will suggest to Professor McGonagall that you spend Sunday afternoon cleaning her classroom as a way of making amends for even _considering_ engaging in such duplicitous behavior in her class."

"Yes, sir," both mumbled unhappily.

"Since you both appear to take for granted your position as leaders of the class, you will spend the next two weeks tutoring the less fortunate. I think Vincent Crabbe should provide an acceptable challenge."

To his surprise, Hermione looked up at that. "But, Professor, Neville has the worst grades in your class. If we're to tutor anyone, it should be him."

"What's the matter, Granger? Don't want to associate with a Slytherin?" Draco taunted.

"Fair's fair, Malfoy," she snapped back. "If we're supposed to help someone, we should help the person who's worst off."

"I suspect Mr Longbottom is beyond mortal aid, Miss Granger," Snape said drily. "I would not have you expend your efforts futilely."

"At least Neville gets top grades in Herbology," Hermione's eyes flashed. "What does Crabbe excel at?"

"Your point being?"

"Neville is smarter than Vincent. Why assume the smarter of the two is 'beyond mortal aid'?"

Snape reluctantly admitted to himself that the know-it-all had a point. And besides, punishment was supposed to be painful. "Very well, you will tutor _both_ Mr Longbottom and Mr Crabbe."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said primly, shooting a triumphant look at Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes. Like it mattered? They could tutor those two until they were blue in the face and it wouldn't make a difference. Crabbe was a moron and Longbottom was a quivering mess. Snape was dreaming if he thought they could produce a miracle.

"You will, of course, tutor Mr Crabbe, Miss Granger," Snape continued, ignoring Hermione's gasp of dismay. "And Mr Malfoy will be responsible for Mr Longbottom." Draco groaned.

"But sir," Hermione protested, "shouldn't we each work with the student that we have the better rapport with? Crabbe will listen to Malfoy much more than he'll listen to me, and Neville –"

"Miss Granger, this is a punishment. I am not having you sit around and chat with your fellow Gryffindor about how much he hates potions. The assignments stand. Any more arguments out of you and you will write 200 lines of 'I will accept my punishments with good grace.'" He paused challengingly, but Hermione bit her lip and kept silent. Draco smothered a grin.

"Of course, I expect your tutoring to work an improvement on both students," Snape went on. He was pleased to note Draco frowning. "If _they_ don't improve by the next exam, it will be _your_ backsides that will pay the penalty."

Both students' eyes widened fearfully.

"…Metaphorically speaking."

Relief was obvious on two faces.

"…For Miss Granger."

Snape fought to control his twitching lips. This was great fun. It was like flipping a switch: dismay, relief, dismay… Now Draco looked dejected, Hermione apprehensive.

"For you, Miss Granger, your continued access to my library is at stake."

Draco was startled by Hermione's moan of horror. "Oh, please, Professor. Can't you swat me too?" she begged, as Draco stared at her with utter incredulity.

"It would hardly be an effective punishment if you were permitted to choose it, Miss Granger," Snape replied austerely, ruthlessly suppressing his hysterics at Draco's expression. "And what did I say about no arguments?"

She paled and ducked her head. "Sorry, sir."

"So, to be clear: you will have Saturday detention with me for your retest. Sunday detention with Professor McGonagall cleaning her classroom. Then two weeks of tutoring sessions with Messrs Crabbe and Longbottom. Failure to document an improvement in their performance will lead to a spanking for Mr Malfoy and banishment from my library for Miss Granger. Oh – and one more thing." Both students looked up, dazed. "For you to avoid punishment, _both_ students must improve."

Hermione started to speak, then clapped a hand to her mouth. Draco had no such compunctions. "You mean if I manage to pull off a miracle and improve Longbottom's grades, but Granger can't do the same with Crabbe and she loses her library privileges, _I_ still get hit?" he demanded incredulously.

"Precisely. And if Miss Granger succeeds with Mr Crabbe but you fail with Mr Longbottom, then not only will you be punished, but Miss Granger will as well," Snape agreed.

"That's not fair!" Draco yelled. Hermione was still managing to keep quiet, but it was clear that for once she heartily agreed with Draco.

"Life is not fair," Snape said calmly. "You got into trouble together; you will need to get out of it together. It would behoove you to set aside your animosity and strive towards a common goal, or you will find yourselves even more acutely miserable."

From the look on their faces, they obviously considered that outcome inevitable.

"Dismissed. Miss Granger, you may deliver your 200 lines to me on Saturday."

Hermione flinched. She had hoped he hadn't considered her earlier pleading an "argument", but obviously Snape wasn't in the mood to show any mercy. She muttered, "Yes, Professor."

"And Mr Malfoy, on the same day I will expect you to turn in 200 lines of 'Stealing from others is both disgraceful and despicable'."

Draco threw him a smoldering glare, but nodded his reluctant acquiescence.

As the two hurried from the classroom, Snape stroked his chin pensively. This was either going to turn out brilliantly or be a complete disaster, and at the moment, he couldn't tell which it would be.

--

"I hope you're happy," Draco spat at Hermione as they left the dungeons.

"Me?" she demanded furiously. "You're the one who started all this by taking my book!"

"No, _you_ started it by trying to cheat with that extra book."

"That wasn't cheating! And if you wanted to see the book, why didn't you just ask me? It's not like I could have said no – the book belongs to your godfather!"

"How was I supposed to know that?" Draco shot back.

"You could have asked!"

"Right – like that was going to happen. Stupid mudblood."

"Arrogant arse!"

"Cow!"

"Snake!"

"Lion!"

"Wait. That's not an insult," Hermione argued.

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it isn't."

"Well, neither is 'snake'."

"Look, this is stupid," she said in exasperation. "Professor Snape's right. We'd better work together or you're going to get smacked and I'm going to get thrown out of his library."

"Oh, boo hoo, Granger. You'll just have to make do with all the zillions of other books around here."

"What are you complaining about? So your backside is sore for – what? A day? Snape's library will be off limits to me for a lot longer than that!"

"Oh, yeah, that's easy for you to say. I bet you haven't been so much as tapped on the bum in your whole life, Granger. Try living my life for a while and see how you like it."

Something Draco had said to Snape occurred to Granger. "Wait – you said your father punishes you if you're not top of the class. You don't mean he _hits_ you for that, do you?"

Draco turned a fiery red. "Shut it, Granger. It's none of your business."

"But that's awful, Draco!" Hermione couldn't help it. She felt sympathy for the Slytherin. No wonder he had wanted her to throw the test.

"I don't need a mudblood's pity!" Draco snarled.

"It's not pity, stupid," she snapped back. "But why didn't you say something?"

"Oh, right, because then you'd let me beat you on all the tests, huh? All because you're such a kind hearted mudblood?"

She frowned. "No – especially not after what Professor Snape just said. But there's got to be a way around it. And don't call me 'mudblood'."

Despite himself, Draco felt a prickling of gratitude. After everything he'd done, Granger was still willing to help him?

"There's nothing you can do, mud- Granger. Stop being stupid."

"Look, we're the two smartest people in our grade, if not the whole school. Are you telling me we can't think of something?" Hermione raised an eyebrow challengingly, and despite his best efforts, Draco felt a smile curling his lips.

"Like what?" He couldn't stop himself asking the question.

"Well, what if there were some prize? Like for scholastic excellence? Would that make your father happy?"

"Sure. And if I didn't win it, it would make him very _un_happy. Are you trying to get me killed?" he demanded.

"I bet if we asked Professor Snape, he'd suggest it to the Headmaster," Hermione mused. "We'll just have to craft it so that you're sure to get it. I know – if it includes sports performance as well as academic standing, you'd win. You play Quidditch, and I don't."

Draco stopped and stared at her. "Are you serious, mu- Granger? You'd really help me win an award?"

"Look, Malfoy, I'm not going to be able to enjoy beating your performance in all our classes if every time I get a higher score than you, I have to worry about something awful happening to you. And I don't like it when people are treated badly - even Slytherins," she added with a smirk.

"So what do you want in return?" he asked suspiciously.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Noth-" Then a thought struck her and she visibly changed her mind. "Hmmm. Draco, how do you feel about the emancipation of house elves?"

_TBC…_


	3. Chapter 3

When Snape informed Crabbe and Longbottom to present themselves at his classroom that evening, both boys were startled. Not only because Snape hadn't used the word "detention", but because it was after a class that had been entirely lecture. Neville hadn't had a chance to melt anything, and Crabbe hadn't had a chance to, well, he never did much of anything anyway. Still, they knew better than to argue, so they duly turned up as ordered and were surprised to find a grim faced Malfoy and determinedly cheerful Granger waiting for them, along with Professor Snape.

"You will spend the next two weeks being tutored," Snape told them, "in the hopes that Miss Granger or Mr Malfoy may have more luck than I in instilling knowledge between your ears. I am certain you will do your _best_," he added, though his tone made it clear he didn't expect that their best was any good.

The two boys exchanged a mutual look of confusion but then they agreeably headed towards their respective Housemates.

"No, no," Snape's mocking voice caught them midway. "Mr Crabbe is to work with Miss Granger. Mr Longbottom with Mr Malfoy."

"I don't want to work with a mudblood!" Crabbe protested before Longbottom could express his own dissatisfaction with the scheme.

"_Are you defying me?_" Snape swept down on Crabbe like an avenging force.

The burly boy cowered back and tried to hide behind Neville. It was rather like watching a large bear try to hide behind a plump pony. "No! No!" he yelped, surrendering instantly.

"And do _you_ have any objections?" Snape purred at Longbottom.

"N-n-n-" Neville stuttered, shaking his head.

"Excellent." Snape straightened up and calmly flicked his robes into place. "Then you may begin."

Crabbe scuttled over to Granger and did his best to keep her between himself and Snape. Hermione sighed and took the large figure by the hand, tugging him over to a desk at the far side of the room. Vincent was still so rattled from Snape's fury that he didn't even pull away from her "defiling" touch. "Now, Vince," she said kindly, when both were seated. "What seems to be your trouble in Potions?"

He regarded her blankly. "Huh?"

Hermione's smile grew more forced. "What are you having problems with? What confuses you?"

Crabbe shrugged. "Dunno. Everything, mostly."

"Well, let's try this a different way. What do you like about Potions?"

Silence.

"What parts _do _you understand?"

Silence.

Hermione fought the urge to pound her head on the desktop. "Can you tell me one of the ingredients in a basic healing potion?"

"Uh, that flower?"

"Which flower?"

"You know, that one that gets put in everything."

"Forget me not?"

"Yeah!"

"No, Vince. That's more for memory potions, not healing potions."

"Oh."

"How about explaining the difference between brewing a potion and an infusion?"

"Ummmm…"

"Okay. Vince, do you have your Potion notes with you? Any old essays or tests I could see?"

The mammoth Slytherin obediently bent to his bag. Vince was obviously accustomed to following orders.

Hermione glanced over the work he displayed. As best she could tell, Snape was giving Crabbe credit because he spelled his name correctly. Most of the time. "Vince, tell me one thing about Potions. Anything. Anything at all."

He frowned, his brow creasing with the effort of unaccustomed thought. "They stink."

"Good!" Hermione practically jumped on the desk and cheered. "That's right! Very good!"

Excited by this unusual success, Crabbe was inspired to greatness. "And they taste bad."

"Wonderful! That's very very good, Vincent!" Hermione scrambled in her bag. "Here, that deserves a chocolate frog."

Vince brightened. Food? He was getting food for a right answer?

"Vincent, why do you think potions taste bad?" Hermione asked, craftily leaving the box of chocolate frogs in plain sight.

Crabbe stared at the box and thought hard. "Ummm, because they don't have sugar or chocolate in them?"

"Good…" Hermione said encouragingly. "Instead, potions contain…?"

"Um, squished up frogs and bits of dead things and stuff like that?"

"Right. And that's why…?"

"That's why… they taste bad?" Vince asked, the ideas finally coming together with an almost audible click.

"Yes!" Hermione gave him another frog.

"Wow! That makes sense!" Vince said happily. "So, like, why do we put all that yukky stuff in them?"

"Because the yukky stuff each has special magical properties. When you put them together in different, special ways, you can make potions that do what you want." Hermione thought back to their very first Potions class and Snape's eloquent introduction to the mysteries of his field. Obviously it was a bit _too_ eloquent for some students. "What are some of the potions that you've used?"

"Uh, healing potions, bruise salve, pepper up potion…" Vince started to reel off several more.

"Great!" Hermione saw Vincent's eyes go to the chocolate frogs, but she firmly kept her hand on the box. She was going to need to owl Honeydukes later. "Let's pick one and talk about the yukky stuff that makes it do what you need."

By the time Snape dismissed them for the evening, Hermione was out of frogs, but Vincent was able to name and describe the basic properties of three ingredients in pepper up potion. The Slytherin left happily, while Hermione dragged herself out the door. She paused only long enough to look daggers at Snape and say, "I begin to understand why you dislike teaching."

Snape smirked back at her. "It's supposed to be a punishment, Miss Granger. I am delighted to see it's working."

The next night, re-supplied with chocolate frogs, Hermione sailed back into battle. She had expected Crabbe to forget everything from the night before and was astounded to find he could recite everything back to her, letter perfect. "But Vincent, that's amazing!" she exclaimed, handing him a chocolate frog in a daze. "How did you remember all that?"

Crabbe looked embarrassed. "I've got a funny memory. I can remember stuff like lists and things."

"Really? That's wonderful."

He shrugged, sheepish. "Doesn't really help with anything. In all our classes, you need to _think_. I don't do that so well," he said without a trace of irony.

Hermione frowned. "What's your favorite class?"

Vince looked even more embarrassed. "History of Magic," he all but whispered.

"WHAT?" Hermione was staggered. Someone actually liked that class?

"Yeah, I mean, it's boring the way old Binns just drones on and on, but all those dates and the cool Goblin wars and all the killing and stuff – that's fun. My dad tells me lots of stories about the old wars and what the different pureblood families did to the Muggles and goblins and – oh. Sorry."

Hermione waved it off. "I know you weren't trying to be rude, Vincent. It's okay. But you mean, you actually like all the dates and things?"

"Yeah, I mean, I can remember that stuff really well. You don't have to think in History." And to prove his point, Vince started reeling off dates and battles.

Hermione was forced to get out her textbook in order to check him, and to her amazement, he was entirely accurate. "But, Vincent, this is wonderful news! Don't you see how you can use this in your other classes?"

He just looked at her in bewilderment. Once again the concepts were neatly lined up, but the connections weren't being made.

"Listen," she began…

The next morning in Potions class, Snape ordered all books closed. "All right, let's see which of you little dunderheads actually did the assigned reading and which of you will be writing an extra essay tonight." Muted groans echoed around the room. "Who can tell me the fourteen ingredients in a Far Seeing potion?"

"Speckled newt's eyes, frog toes, water, violet stamens, honey, bismuth, mandrake root, octopus eyeballs, hawk's feather, cat whisker, snake skin, bubotuber paste, mint leaves, and marjoram!"

Snape scowled. "There is no shouting in my class, Mr… CRABBE?" He – and the rest of the class – stared incredulously at the student who was beaming proudly.

"That's the order you add them in, too," the boy added helpfully.

"Yes, yes, it is," Snape admitted, stunned. "What about Blood Replenisher?"

Crabbe again recited the ingredient list without so much as a pause for breath. The class, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike, gaped at him. "That's very good, Mr Crabbe, not to mention _completely_ unexpected. Ten points to Slytherin." Crabbe glowed, and Snape quirked an eyebrow to where Hermione sat, smiling smugly.

"…Of course, he doesn't have a clue about _why_ you use those ingredients or what to do if you need to substitute something, but it's still a big improvement," Hermione explained to Snape after class.

"One might almost say miraculous," Snape agreed drily. "I'm… impressed, Miss Granger." Her resulting smile was almost as wide as Crabbe's. "Of course, you still have several days of tutoring left."

"Oh, yes sir. I need to show him how to do the same thing with his other lessons as we've done with the Potions material. That's all right, isn't it? We don't have to _only_ study Potions, do we?"

"No. I am appreciative of the assistance you are showing a member of my House, Miss Granger. You definitely are exceeding the onus placed upon you by the detention," he admitted.

"Well, I didn't expect to enjoy it, especially after that first night, but it _is_ exciting to watch Vince start to do well. For him, I mean. And it felt good to see his face after he got those answers right today." She smiled up at him. "I'm sorry I was rude that first night. It's actually a pretty brilliant detention. I'm having fun."

"Be sure not to tell anyone," he said crossly. "Now run along." As she left the dungeons, he said quietly, "And twenty points to Gryffindor for having wrought a miracle."

#--

Two days later, Snape was summoned to the Slytherin Common Room by one of his prefects. "What is it this time, Mr Flint?" Snape snapped.

"Sorry to disturb you, sir, but you said to notify you about any fights in the House."

Snape hid his surprise under a fearsome scowl. Considering how strongly he cautioned his little snakes that they all had to support each other – Slytherins first and foremost – serious fights within the dormitory were relatively rare. There were too many Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and (of course) Gryffindors to battle for there to be much energy left over for internal conflicts. Besides which, Snape's palpable displeasure at snake-on-snake violence made it much less likely to occur, particularly after his threats following an incident earlier that year.

Snape followed Flint into the main room. Most of the Slytherins had wisely vanished, not wanting to be associated, even indirectly, with these events. "Who was involved?" Snape demanded, biting off each word.

"Crabbe and Goyle, sir," Flint said. "I had to petrify 'em before they'd stop." He nodded to where the two boys lay rigid in front of the fire. The rest of the room was a shambles, as if two large gorillas had hurled themselves about with careless abandon. Which, in a sense, was exactly what had happened.

Snape glanced about. "Yes? And who else?"

"Sir?" Flint looked blank.

"Who were Crabbe and Goyle fighting?" He wondered if the poor student (or students) had already been transported to Madame Pomfrey.

"Uh, no one, sir. They were fighting each other."

Snape's eyebrows rose in shock. Crabbe and Goyle were inseparable, just as their fathers had been in school – and still were to the current day. For them to have argued, let alone come to blows, was unprecedented. To be completely honest, Snape hadn't imagined the boys had enough brains between them to disagree about anything.

"What were they fighting about?"

Flint shrugged, then colored at his Head's glare. He knew Snape loathed such sloppy gestures. "Sorry, sir. I'm not really sure. No one seems to have noticed anything until the punches started flying. I think someone said Crabbe said something to Goyle like 'Don't call her that!' but I'm not sure."

Ah. Yes, of course. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.He should have foreseen this. Of course Crabbe would now regard the Gryffindor know-it-all with a certain degree of fondness now that she had helped him improve his dismal scholastic record. And just as predictably, Goyle hadn't understood that his best friend's world had undergone a sea change.

"Thank you, Mr Flint. That will be all," Snape said. He levitated the two pugilists and guided them, floating behind him, to his office where he released the binding spell. The boys scrambled to their feet.

He glowered at them, and they cowered back. Obviously whatever their differences, they still were more scared of him than of each other. He cast a quick diagnostic spell to ensure that neither was seriously hurt, but though each had absorbed a lot of punishment from the other, there was nothing worse than minor cuts and bruises. There was something to be said for being a solid block of muscle.

"Well?" he snapped.

"He hit me!" Goyle whined. "Just 'cause I called a mudblood a mudblood."

"Don't call her that!" Crabbe growled. "Her name's Granger." An odd sort of simper appeared on his face. "Hermione Granger."

Oh no. Please no. Snape's stomach lurched. All he needed was for Crabbe Senior to figure out that his son and heir was in love with a Gryffindor Muggleborn. Not that he was brutal the way Lucius Malfoy was, but he would most likely appear on Snape's doorstep drunk and maudlin, wanting to know where he had gone wrong with the boy. The last thing Snape wanted was to have to console a tearful moron like Crabbe Senior.

"Mr Crabbe," he said sharply, "Miss Granger is acting in the role of a teacher for you. It would be most improper for you to treat her with anything less than complete respect!"

Crabbe gazed at him blankly.

_Little words, Severus. Use little words, _he reminded himself. "Hermione may not like you as anything but a friend," he said as gently as he could.

Crabbe sighed mournfully. "Yeah, I know. But that doesn't mean _he_ – " he jerked a thumb at Goyle "- can call her names!"

"Huh?" Goyle was, as usual, lost. He looked pitifully at Snape. "But _isn't_ she a mudblood? I thought that if your parents aren't wizards, that makes you a mudblood."

"DON'T CALL HER THAT!" Crabbe was nothing if not single minded.

"Enough!" Snape snarled. Well, perhaps he might yet salvage another student or two from the Death Eaters. "Neither of you will use the term 'mudblood' again. Use 'Muggleborn' instead. Understand?" He watched Goyle's lips move as he laboriously practiced the word. "If anyone argues with you, send them to me." With luck, once it became known that Crabbe had punched the stuffing out of Goyle for saying 'mudblood', use of the term might decline precipitously throughout the House.

"And for fighting in the House," he continued, giving them his best glare, "you will both serve a weekend of detention with Filch." They flinched, but knew better than to argue. Actually, compared to what he had threatened earlier in the year, he was treating them with astonishing leniency, though it was unlikely they would have the wit to appreciate it.

He dismissed them after a few more snarls and threats, then sat in his office, musing. That Granger girl really had shown an amazing talent for teaching. He wondered if Draco were similarly skilled.

#--

Unfortunately, Malfoy and Longbottom were not having a similar level of success. Malfoy's teaching style was heavily influenced by Snape, and having yet another Slytherin shout insults at him was – oddly enough – not helping Neville.

"You really are hopeless, Lardbottom!" Malfoy howled in frustration after one spectacularly failed attempt to brew a simple three-ingredient potion. "This is the kind of stuff they have eight year olds doing in Junior Baby Potion classes! Are you sure you're not a squib in disguise?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Neville was scarlet with frustration and humiliation. "It's not like I'm trying to fail, you know!"

"Maybe if you tried to fail, you'd succeed! Merlin knows trying to succeed isn't getting you anywhere."

"I'm doing the best I can," Neville protested, feeling the familiar prickle of tears at the back of his eyes. "It's not easy for me, okay?"

"I just want you to know, " Malfoy leaned close and hissed at him, "that when you blow the next test and I get whacked for your idiocy, I am going to have Crabbe and Goyle ambush you and beat you bloody."

Neville promptly dropped the container of stinkbug juice, and the ensuing noxious cloud forced the evacuation of the classroom and the adjournment of the evening's lesson.

By the next morning, tempers were still running high. Malfoy and Longbottom exchanged glares through History of Magic and into Herbology. When Professor Sprout praised Neville for his excellent potting technique, Malfoy stage whispered to Goyle, "It's no surprise he gets along with plants, he has the same brain capacity as one!"

That did it. Yes, Neville was relatively timid. Yes, he was petrified of Snape. Yes, Draco scared him too. But Draco, for all his sneers and threats, was just another student, and while Neville might not be able to do anything about Snape's constant abuse, he had reached the limit of what he would take from Draco. So he deliberately turned around and threw his tray of seedlings at Draco.

That in and of itself might not have been a particularly nasty move, but the seedlings were firecracker plants and the rough handling promptly made them detonate. Malfoy yelped and dove for cover as a half dozen explosions occurred around his ears.

Some minutes later, Sprout had restored calm to the classroom and was applying salve to the small burns spotting Malfoy's head and hands. "Oh dear, Mr Malfoy," she said apologetically. "It looks as if some of your hair has been, er, _singed_."

"What?" screeched Draco. Not his hair! He brought a hand up and was appalled to find that a sizable chunk had been burnt away. The frizzled remains felt like straw beneath his fingers. "I'll kill him! This is all that idiot's fault! You saw what he did! You'd better be giving him detention until he's forty!"

Professor Sprout's gentle gaze grew steely. "Yes, I did see what he did. _And_ I heard what you said to provoke him. You'll _both_ be here after class for detention."

"That's not fair," whined Draco. "I'm the injured party in this! And besides, we already have detention with Professor Snape."

"So Mr Longbottom explained to me. That is why you will serve your detention with me _before_ dinner and with Professor Snape _after_ dinner."

Draco whinged and complained, but Professor Sprout remained firm. She finally threatened to contact his Head of House if he continued to refuse the detention, and Draco backed down. Snape _might_ agree with Draco that having been practically set on fire was enough of a punishment, but he might just as easily support his fellow professor.

And so, after class was over, Longbottom and Malfoy remained behind, alongside what appeared nearly endless rows of Samurai Roses, all of which needed pruning. The only problem was that the Samurai Roses didn't want to be pruned, and they were wickedly good at defending themselves with their thorns, some of which were nearly as long as a finger.

Professor Sprout headed off to a project that required her attention in the other greenhouse, but not until she had threatened them with death, dismemberment, and detention (not necessarily in that order) if they got up to more mischief. Both boys nodded and got to work.

Draco found it not only slow going, but acutely painful. No matter how he tried to sneak up on the plants, they always saw him coming, and they were lightning quick with their sword-like thorns. He tried parrying them with the pruning shears, but they had earned their name – samurai – and he was no match for them. Within half an hour, he was weeping from both pain and frustration. He knew that when he returned to his dormitory with his hands cut to ribbons, he would be mocked and derided. Sprout – and Hufflepuffs in general – were not held in high regard, and the notion that the Prince of Slytherin could be vanquished by a bunch of flowers would make him the butt of jokes for several weeks. Making matters worse, his father was certain to hear of it through the Slytherin parents' grapevine, and he would likely turn up to make his displeasure clear to Draco. Very, very clear.

One of the flowers neatly impaled his thumb on its thorn, and he couldn't suppress a cry of pain. Neville looked over from where he was significantly farther down his row. "What's the matter, Malfoy?"

"Shut up, Lardbottom," Draco said savagely, dashing the tears from his cheeks. That was all he needed, Neville's taunting as well. He struck out at the rose in front of him and cried out again as it blocked his attempt and opened a long slash along the back of his hand. He threw the pruning shears down and burst into tears of pain and rage.

"Merlin, Malfoy, what have you done to yourself?" Neville asked, coming up behind him. "Your hands are shredded."

"Yeah, I know. Real funny, isn't it? Ha, ha," Draco snapped, forcing back his sobs and pulling himself together through an act of sheer will. "You'll be able to have a real howl about it back in the Gryffindor Common Room tonight, right, Lardbottom?"

"Stop calling me that, Malfoy," Neville ordered sharply.

Startled, Draco looked at him. Here in the greenhouses, Neville seemed different. More confident and more… adult, somehow. "Here," Neville said, reaching under the work table and pulling out his bookbag. He grabbed one of Draco's hands.

"What are you doing?" Draco demanded, snatching back his hand. "I'm not holding hands with you!"

"Fine, bleed all over the place," Neville shrugged. "Or, if you want, I can put this healing cream on." He held up a pot that Malfoy instantly recognized. "I always bring some with me just in case."

Draco sniffled then tried to hide it with a disdainful sniff. "I'm sure you need it all the time. A clod like you working with all these dangerous plants?"

"Actually, I haven't needed it at all this term," Neville said evenly, then grinned suddenly. "Yet." He opened the jar. "So do you want some or not?"

Draco fought with himself. Accept help from Lardbottom? But as much as it would sting his pride to do so, refusing would hurt worse. His hands were sheer agony. "Not much point," he muttered, looking down the long row of plants he had yet to touch. "I'll just get sliced up all over again."

Neville recaptured one of his hands and started smearing it with salve. "Not necessarily. Let's see what your technique is like. It's really not that hard."

Draco snorted. "Oh yeah? A lot you know!"

Neville looked at him calmly. "I've done twice as many as you, and I haven't gotten a single scratch. So, yeah, I do know a lot. More than you, anyway."

Draco wanted to sneer at the notion of a Longbottom knowing more than a Malfoy about _anything_, but the salve felt so good that he couldn't bring himself to say anything snotty. The pain was nearly gone from one hand, and he nearly whimpered in relief as Neville reached for the other.

"Okay," Neville ordered, once Draco's hands were fully healed. "Show me what you've been doing."

Draco bridled, but then grudgingly obeyed. He picked up his shears and started warily towards the next rose.

"Wait!" Neville called. "That's your first mistake. You need to approach it like this – didn't you do the reading?" Neville took his own pruning shears and approached the rose. He bowed, and the rose bowed back. The instant the rose bent over, Neville nimbly leapt forward and with an adroitness Draco never would have suspected, he pinched it just behind the flower. The entire plant promptly went limp, and he quickly snipped off its extra branches. Then he let go, sprang back, and the rose immediately revived.

Draco stared at him. Somehow those fingers which always seemed so fat and clumsy in Potions and on broomsticks were deft and sure here in the greenhouse. "That was amazing," Draco gulped, in spite of himself.

Neville smiled, just for a moment, then the usual caution settled back in his expression. "You give it a try."

It was hard for a Malfoy to bow, especially to a stupid _flower_, for Merlin's sake! But Draco managed, and the rose bowed back. It took him a few tries before he was able to do it quickly enough to avoid the thorns, but soon he was zipping along the line of roses. He wasn't as graceful at it as Neville, but he was good enough to avoid being hurt.

"Hey, Neville," he called, curious, "if you've got the dexterity to get the drop on these roses, why are you so clumsy in potions? If you're not hacking apart the ingredients, you're dropping them all over or jostling the cauldron. That's why your stuff always blows up or melts or something."

Neville shrugged. "Snape rattles me. I know he's your Head of House and godfather and all, but he's really scary."

"Compared to what?" Draco scoffed. "All he can do is insult you, and he insults everyone. What's so bad about that?"

Neville looked down at the rose he was working on. "I don't like it when he says I'm useless," he whispered, almost too low for Draco to hear. "Because he's right."

Draco looked up in surprise. "Why do you say that?" It was true that not too long ago, he'd have agreed with Longbottom, but having watched the other boy's skill with plants, he didn't understand why Neville was so convinced of his own ineptitude.

Neville looked away. "You know about my folks, right? I mean, with your father being a Death Eater – or ex-Death Eater, I guess."

Draco colored at the reference to Lucius, but it was clear Neville hadn't meant anything rude by it. "Yeah. So? They were tortured by Death Eaters and went insane, right?"

"Yeah," Neville said. "But I was there when it happened."

Draco swallowed. He knew Neville would only have been a baby at the time, but still, being there, hearing his parents screaming from the _Cruciatus_… That was just sick.

Merlin, he did _not_ want to join Voldemort, no matter _what_ his father said or did.

"Yeah. I don't really remember, but you know…" Neville took a deep breath. "I didn't do anything. To help them, I mean."

Draco stared at him. "Longbottom, you were like, what, 14 months old? What the hell _could_ you have done?"

"Harry defeated Voldemort at that age," Neville said quietly, continuing to prune the roses. "I couldn't even get help for my parents. It's not like they went insane quickly, you know. It took hours and hours."

Draco felt nauseous. This was what his father wanted for him? Suddenly he realized how much courage it must take the other boy just to get up in the morning. "Really, Longbottom, that's not true. About Potter, I mean. He didn't defeat the Dark Lord."

Neville frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean, yes, the Dark Lord tried to kill him and the spell backfired or something, but everything I've heard always said that it wasn't really _Potter_, but something his mum did, or maybe both his parents together. You know, to protect him. Like, it wasn't anything that _he_ did on his own, but something that they did _to _him, or maybe _for _him. So maybe the fact that you survived too was because of something your folks did for you. Did you ever think of that? Maybe it wasn't that you should have done something to save them, but that they were doing something to save you that whole time. That's why you're still here. 'Cause they cared about you as much as Potter's parents cared about him."

Neville was staring at him. "You really think so?" he said, the words breathed out between stiff lips.

Draco shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. Why was he being nice to Lardbottom? "I don't know. But it makes sense to me. I mean, why should only _Potter's_ parents be able to protect their kid?" he asked, the usual venom in his voice as he mentioned the Dolt Who Lived.

Neville suddenly ducked his head, and Draco realized, mortified, that the other boy was crying. _If Sprout comes in here now, I'm dead. She'll want to know if I made him cry, and I'll have to say yes, and she'll report me to Snape and… Oh, Merlin, why did I ever say that?_

Draco waited in an agony of embarrassment and anxiety for the other boy to get control of himself. Twelve year old boys are not particularly comfortable with strong emotions, and Draco was perhaps less sympathetic than most, but even he realized that anything he said at that moment would only make things worse. There was nothing to do but wait.

After what seemed an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, Neville dragged a sleeve across his face and looked up at Draco. "Thanks. I hadn't ever thought of it like that. I owe you one, Malfoy."

Draco squirmed. "Yeah, okay," he muttered. "Whatever."

Neville managed a watery grin. "Now I _really_ need to improve in Potions. I'll actually feel bad now if you end up getting walloped because of me."

Draco glared at him suspiciously. "Have you been deliberately holding back just so I would get in trouble?"

"No! I mean, I know that if I don't improve, Hermione gets in trouble too, and even if I wanted to see you whacked, I wouldn't do that to her. But I guess I just never really thought that you _would _be able to help me improve my grades, no matter how hard I tried, and until now I wasn't really all that upset at the thought of you getting hit."

"Great," Draco said sourly. "If you _had_ been messing up on purpose, we might have had a chance. But no, we're still dead."

Neville looked apologetic. "I'm really sorry."

Draco thought hard. "Tell me what you have to do to pot a Veritas orchid," he said slowly, an idea striking him.

"Oka-ay," Neville obviously didn't understand the request but he was willing to play along. "First you have to prepare the potting soil. There are eighteen ingredients that make up the seven layers, and it takes about three weeks to prepare them all. You have to be sure that you do it between the winter solstice and –"

"Stop!" Draco commanded. "If you can remember all that, and _do_ it, then what is your problem with Potions? I mean, this herbology shite takes forever. It can take you three _years_ to figure out if you potted a centenary plant properly – at least a potion either works or blows up pretty quickly by comparison."

"I don't know," Neville defended himself. "I don't understand how potions work. I mean, with plants, it's all pretty simple. They're living things. You need to give them what they need to grow and thrive. Yeah, okay, some are more complicated than others, but most of them just want the same thing. But potions are all different and the ingredients are disgusting – all those awful animal parts? Yuk!"

"What if – what if you thought about a potion like a plant? I mean, you need to feed plants, right? You have to mix up different plant foods for roses than for kauri trees, don't you?"

"Yeah…?"

"So how do you decide what goes in each type of plant food?"

Neville grinned. "That's easy. You just look at the plant that's going to eat it, and you figure out what it needs to grow properly."

"Okay, so try this. Instead of thinking of a potion as a recipe you're brewing or something you have to _make_, think of it as an effect you want to create. Like when you make plant food, you say you think about what you want it to do for the plant, right?" Neville nodded. "Okay, so when it's time to make a nutrient potion – " Draco named one of the simplest potions "- think about what you want the potion to do."

"You mean, like replace the body's own fuel stores?"

"Exactly!" Draco was beginning to get excited. "So what do you need to put in it to get that effect?"

Neville was thinking hard. "Well, you'd need something to take the place of the protein and other food groups – is that what the powdered dragon's liver does? Because it's so high in magical content?"

"Yes!" Draco pumped his fist in victory. "You've got it! Keep going!"

Neville managed – with only minor prompting – to get through the rationale for the rest of the nutrient potion's ingredients as well as to puzzle out why they needed to be added in their appropriate order and manner. By the end, he was dancing around the greenhouse, yelling, "It makes sense! It finally makes sense!"

Throwing his dignity to the winds, Draco linked arms with him in a mad sort of jig. "Hooray! I'm saved! No swats!"

A noise at the entrance to the greenhouse caused the boys to jerk to a halt. Sprout and Snape stood there, mouths upon. "I – I heard the yelling and thought you were killing each other, so I called Professor Snape," Sprout stammered. "Is – is everything all right?"

Draco straightened haughtily. "Of course it is," he said coldly. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You were _dancing_ with Mr Longbottom, Mr Malfoy. Have you been hit with an Imperius? Do you need to see Madame Pomfrey?"

"Please, Professor," Neville said in tones almost as glacial as Draco's. "Although you may find such comments amusing, I doubt the rest of us do."

Draco smothered his snort of laughter, while Snape's other eyebrow joined its mate at the man's hairline. _Longbottom_ had just delivered a put-down? To _him_? "Perhaps you have forgotten you have detention with me after dinner, Mr Longbottom," he replied with silky menace.

To his astonishment, Neville actually grinned. "I know. I'm looking forward to it. I think we'll brew a nutrient potion tonight. That sound good to you, Draco?"

"Yeah, okay, Neville." Draco couldn't resist. He knew it would make his godfather nearly swallow his tongue. "Professor Sprout, may we please be excused to go to dinner?"

The Hufflepuff nodded jerkily.

"Thank you, Professor," Neville said politely. "I'll be happy to come by this weekend and help finish the pruning if you need me."

Snape and Sprout watched the two boys walk over to the Great Hall, chatting companionably. "Severus…" Sprout began tentatively. "I suppose it's not really any of my business, but is your godson behaving like his normal self?"

Snape paused. He trusted the Herbology professor as much as he trusted anyone – which admittedly wasn't very much – but he wasn't about to reveal his plans for Draco to anyone. He forced the immense satisfaction that he felt out of his tone and answered in his usual ill-tempered drawl. "No, Pomona. Not in the least. Obviously exposure to Longbottom has softened his brain."

As he'd expected, the Hufflepuff took exception to his remark. "Well, it certainly has softened _something_ about him, and you know what? I like it!" With that angry snap, she whirled and marched away, leaving Snape free to murmur softly, "So do I."

_FINIS_


End file.
